Fade

His eyes flicked up in amusement from where stood, lounging gracefully against the pillar in the darkened chamber.

Her face showed her fear as the words tumbled out involuntarily. "What is it?" Biting down on her lip quickly, she lowered her gaze. Never question me, he had told her. I know all, and I seek that which is in your best interest. Never question me.

He looked at her sharply for a moment, savouring the contrite expression before letting it gently fall. "A change in the air. A presence. It would seem," he said almost dismissively, "That your young hero is on his way to rescue you."

"To rescue me?"

"But of course. It is, after all, the valiant, Gryffindor thing to do, is it not?" He gave a slight sneer before continuing: "Save the poor damsel in distress from the tyrannical Heir who has captured her for his own evil purposes. Ah, Virginia, if only he knew what purposes."

He smirked confidently, and she couldn't believe that he simply stood there, wandless, so indifferent to the approach of the one person who could destroy him. Him, immortal as he seemed to think himself, the one -the only one- who had seen her (seen her, not through her) had trusted his power to her hands, had loved her and shown her what true loyalty was.

She fought to regain her feet, hair flying about her dirty face, and weakened arms flailing. "Tom! Go! Harry can't find you here!"

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. "Silly girl," he said quietly. "Do you think he is a match for me, this boy? You, of all -" He quoted softly, menacingly " -you, who have been 'sin-stained and made anew?'"

She murmured something faintly, unintelligibly, and ducked her head in fear, unknowingly backing away from him. Far less things had warranted punishment for her. And richly she deserved it. Sin stained indeed.

"What?" he asked - demanded of her. Taking a step towards her, he lifted her chin with a single white finger, drawing her gaze to his. She was trembling. Pathetic little thing; she was too fragile for such times, such purposes.

"He was a match for you once before," she repeated, her voice shaking more violently than her fingers as she pitched herself forward into his chest. Muffled from the deep recesses of fabric, she whispered, "He destroyed the wizard you were, when you had fifty more years and he was just a baby! What might he do to you now? And you are mine - mine! What would I do without you?"

.

"No!" he said sharply, disentangling her fingers from the folds of his robe and pushing her roughly away. "No, child, you are mine, and my words are your law. You doubt me, even now, when I have shown you in every possible way that I cannot be destroyed! You doubt me, and you defy me! What kind of servant are you?

"What use," he continued, his voice low, "Could I possibly have for you if you continue in this manner?"

She sobbed openly then, her voice breaking, tiny eleven year old squeaks coming from her twisted lips as her legs buckled beneath her. Hitting her knees hard on the stone floor, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

"I have no patience for this," he said dismissively, turning suddenly and striding away from her, toward the towering statue. Every footstep was an echo, a hollow promise broken.

Her cries shaking her weakened chest, she tried to rise to her feet again, only to stumble, her legs caught in a hopeless tangle in her robes. "Tom!" she choked out, her voice thick with her desperation and her tears. "Please don't leave me! I will do better this time, Tom..."

And she crawled then, each movement a painful, struggling reminder of the energy he was seeping, straining from her soul. And she gave it willingly, even as her dying eyes pleaded with her broken voice for him to turn, and favour her once more.

His humourless laugh cut through her as she saw him, half hidden in the shadows. His spider hand lazily spun a static image in the dank air, and she saw herself at his feet, in his arms, through his eyes. No longer the pure, untouched child, she was broken, spoiled, and his desire waned. She saw herself shattered; mere shards of glass in his eyes, a ring of smoke blown too thin. And she fell.

There were footfalls, far away, through the pounding in her head, and then his arms were around her and the edge-darkened love was perfect once more.

Her breath was coming quick, silent gasps as he lifted her for one glorious, triumphant moment, before placing her back on the stone floor, at his forefather's feet. He leaned over her, his shadow stark on her white skin, and ran a finger down the side of her face, whispering softly: "Hush, my dear. It will be over soon."

She flinched away from his touch and his voice, squeezing her eyes against her tears, and he sank into the darkness once more.

His eyes lingered over her slowly freezing form; her breath ragged now, the stirring in her flat chest scarcely noticeable. It was a pity, all in all. Her pure blood was an asset to him, and her blind loyalty and love might have its uses, when the time was right. If only there was another, whose essences he might take in lieu of her own...

Harry's running footsteps and breathless gasps were faint in his ears as the young boy came into view, wand in hand, rushing, falling at the side of the fallen maiden. Tom could feel the magic in the air, could feel the promise and life in the boy before him; this boy who was his bane and his ruin and his saviour. Tom felt the power flowing around him in the air, his eyes full of bloodlust and hunger at the sight before him.

He smiled, and stepped out into the light.

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